Family
by Rookblonkorules
Summary: They're more like family than anything else, something they're only just beginning to realize. No slash.
1. TroubleMakers: Jax and Sara

**A/N** This was originally intended to be a part two to my other Legends fic, _Got Your Back,_ (largely inspired by reviews from radpineapple and afanofyourstory, so thanks guys. I hope you find this) but it didn't really fit the format I had there, so this was born. "This" mainly being a collection of silly one-shots/short stories revolving around the Legends as a family.

Since I like exploring interactions between characters who don't really get much time together on the show, this first chapter is starring Jax and Sara.

The majority of these chapter will be platonic, _but_ CaptainCanary may show up from time and to time and will occasionally be implied in chapters where those two are not the focus.

 **Warning** **:** Some language and mild violence.

* * *

Jax raised his eyebrows as Sara downed yet another drink. "You sure you should be having another one?" he asked her.

Sara laughed, slamming the shot glass against the counter. Jax jumped. "We're here to have fun," she told him, eyes twinkling. "This is fun. Don't be such a party pooper."

Jax glanced down at his own empty glass. Yes, this was supposed to be fun, but he was pretty sure Martin, not to mention Rip, would kill them if they came back completely wasted.

And after what happened that one time with Mick, well… Jax was sure he never wanted to test them.

He _still_ didn't know what methods they'd used to get Mick to scrub _all_ the floors in the Waverider.

"Hey you!" Sara waved to one of the bartenders and gestured them over where they sat. "Another glass for my friend here." She grinned and winked at Jax as the man obliged them, filling up the glass again.

Jax rolled his eyes. "Good grief."

Sara smiled brightly. "You wanted this."

"Fine." Jax reached for the drink, but before he could take it, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

He stiffened, before reluctantly turning around to face the newcomer, who squeezed in between Jax and Sara. The man was big, beefy, and reeked of alcohol and sweat.

Jax wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Look," he said, holding his hands up, "I didn't come here for a fight."

"Too bad." The man smirked. "You look like you're looking for trouble."

"Hey." A hand grabbed the man's shoulder, catching his attention and he turned, giving Jax a view of Sara, who had risen from her seat. She smiled sweetly, but there was fire beneath it. "You might want to rethink that. That's my friend you're messing with there."

The man sized her up, then smiled, but there was nothing nice there. "Yeah?" he asked. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Sara's smile didn't falter as she grabbed the man's wrist and twisted. The man cried out in pain and swung wildly. His fist delivered a glancing blow to the side of Sara's head.

He didn't get another shot.

Sara kneed him in the gut, flipping the man over her shoulder before he could so much as finish saying _oof!_

"Holy…!" Jax jumped back.

The man grabbed for a bench, using it to haul himself up. "You're going to pay for that, Missy," he snarled.

"Really?" Sara didn't seem the least bit concerned. "Because it looks like I just took care of you."

The man didn't get a chance to respond as Jax brought a bottle crashing down on his head.

"Hey." Sara frowned at him as the big man crumpled to the floor. "I had this under control."

"Yeah, well…" Jax stared at the big man on the floor. Did he really just do that?

"Duck!" Sara suddenly warned and Jax obeyed just in time as another bottle sailed over his head, shattering on the counter.

"We're getting out of here!" Jax grabbed for her hand.

"It's just getting started!" Sara protested.

And yeah, it definitely was, considering at least three of the guy's friends seemed to be ready to pick a fight now.

And Jax did not want to see things "get started."

"I don't care!" Jax protested vehemently, ignoring the fact that this trip had been partly his idea. "Do you have any idea how much trouble we'll be in if we get into a bar fight when we were specifically told _not to go anywhere?!"_

Sara giggled. "Think Rip'll ground us?" she asked.

"I think he'll do a bit more than just ground us," Jax remarked. He grabbed for Sara's arm, but she pulled away from him easily.

He should have expected it, considering who he was dealing with, but he was frustrated.

And worried.

Jax wondered if Rip and the others had returned and discovered their absence yet.

He sure as hell _hoped_ not.

He didn't know which option he dreaded more: dealing with an angry Time Master or getting pounded on by a couple of drunks.

" _Sara_ ," he hissed frantically, " _we have to go!"_

Sara stared at him forlornly. "But I was having _fun._ " She made a wide, sweeping gesture with her arm and knocked one of the glasses off the counter.

Jax flinched and, this time, successfully grabbed Sara's arm.

Sara glared at him but she didn't pull away from him this time.

Jax thought they might actually be successful in getting away from here with little to no damage.

But, as it always was with them, that would have been too easy.

The first man charged, an angry bull, swinging his fist.

Jax cursed and ducked, but kept his grip on Sara's arm.

Sara stumbled after him. "Jax," she gasped, sounding more lucid than she had a second ago, "let go of my arm."

Jax wasn't stupid. He knew that if Sara really wanted to, she could have him on the floor in half a second tops, but she was going with him.

Whether it was because she was too drunk to protest (which was ridiculous. This was _Sara_ ), she realized she'd bit off more than she could chew (again, this was _Sara_ ) or she was just humoring him (did Sara even humor people anyways?) was a different story entirely.

Somehow they made it outside, even though Sara had to clear a path (while Jax was feeling pretty much useless without Professor Stein there to form Firestorm with-it wasn't like he knew how to fight as himself.)

"Well," Sara said, her arm draped around Jax's shoulders, though Jax wondered just how big a part her being drunk played in that, "that went well. All things considered."

"Yeah, but," with a sinking heart, Jax noticed one decidedly displeased Time Ship Captain, arms crossed, approaching them, "I think things are about to get a lot worse."

* * *

"What were you thinking? What were you _thinking!_ " Rip's tirade was accentuated as he flailed his arms, pacing back and forth on the _Waverider's_ deck.

Jax sat as still as he possibly could, unwilling to attract any more of the Captain's ire.

Sara, however, didn't seem the least bit concerned. She sat slumped at the table, head buried in her arms. Jax wasn't sure she was even listening.

Snart sat beside her, distractedly playing with her hair. An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his lips and Jax suspected he was the only one of them deriving any entertainment from this whole matter.

Except for maybe Mick.

Jax eyed the arsonist suspiciously, but Mick was surprisingly stoic.

"Honestly!" Rip slammed his hands on the table in front of Jax and he jumped. "Can I not leave you alone without you finding some kind of mischief to engage yourselves in?"

He glared at Sara as he said the last words, but his efforts were wasted as it was questionable whether or not she was even aware of his presence.

"Sorry, sir," Jax said, folding his hands in his lap, mainly to keep himself from nervous fidgeting. "It won't happen again, sir."

Rip frowned at him. "I've heard that one from all of you before. Several times actually. Several times in the same _month."_

Jax grimaced. "So…" he said nervously, "are you going to…"

"Have you and Sara scrub all the decks on the _Waverider_ three times over?" Rip finished for him. "Yes, I think that sounds like an excellent idea. Gideon will supervise you. Won't you Gideon?"

"Of course, Captain," the A.I. said smoothly.

Rip nodded, satisfied. "There. That's settled." He gave Snart a pointed glance. "Mr. Snart, I'll expect you to inform Ms Lance when she's… a little more sober."

Jax groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, man." And he'd yet to receive his lecture from Stein, which he was sure was coming sooner rather than later. He was so screwed.

Snart, however, didn't break eye contact with Rip. "I would, but then again, I like all my limbs intact."

Rip didn't blink. "Gideon."

Gideon spoke, "The Captain has asked me to arrange a rather impressive collection of jazz should the need for it ever arise."

Snart glared at him a long moment, before throwing up his arms. "Fine."

Mick clapped Jax on the back, startling him and Jax wondered exactly _how_ he'd ended up behind him when he'd seen him standing behind Rip a few minutes ago.

"Have to say I'm impressed kid," Mick told him. "Usually _I'm_ the one who gets him pissed."


	2. TroubleMakers: Ray, Martin and Mick

**This chapter is a little shorter that I'd originally intended, but I hope that doesn't kill your enjoyment of it in any way.**

 **In response to a question left by my guest reviewer, AFanofYourStory: Snart's aversion to jazz music is something I came up with for _Got Your Back_ for comedic effect (besides, I needed something that Rip could use to blackmail Snart with and that was the best option my mind came up with, lol!) that somehow made it's way to this fic and you may see it brought up from time to time. :) **

**Thank you so much to all my lovely reviewers! You really make writing worthwhile!**

* * *

"Dr. Palmer? Raymond?" The voice fluctuated in its intensity, up and down, and Ray groaned.

 _Oh, man, someone get the number on that freight train that hit me._

He groaned again, pressing his hand to his forehead, and slowly opened his eyes. Doing so kicked his headache up a notch, but it gradually brought a face into focus. Two round, rather alarmed looking, eyes blinked owlishly at him from behind a pair of square, plastic rimmed glasses.

Ray squinted. "Stein?"

The older man visibly sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness," he said, leaning back on his heels. "You were out for a good while."

"I... was?" Ray tried to sit up, but doing so proved not to be a good idea, as the room began spinning around him like a merry-go-round.

If he tried standing up, he'd likely wind up back on the floor in an instant with an even worse concussion, so he did the smart thing and stayed where he was. On the floor.

Which wasn't exactly comfortable, but it prevented him from further injuring himself, so he supposed he could make do where he was.

"Uh…" He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Was it something I did?"

Martin's eyes slid over to the side and Ray's followed. "...oh."

There, in a heap, lay the smoking remains of… something. Some project of his.

"I believe you were trying to create a more efficient…" Martin peered at it closer, "engine modulator of some sort."

"Hmmm." Ray crinkled his brow, staring at the remains. "That… sounds right."

Martin nodded, almost to himself. "All right, let's get you to the medbay, then."

He paused then, looking at Ray critically for a moment. "You know what? Perhaps it would be best if I… found help before moving you. My back's not quite what it used to be."

With that, he departed from the room, leaving Ray.

 _And I'll just wait here. On the floor._

Ray groaned, trying to prop himself up from his uncomfortable position. Doing so brought another wave of vertigo crashing down on him, but he set his teeth and at the very least he managed to remain somewhat upright by the time Martin returned with… someone in tow.

Mick Rory followed Martin into the room, looking far too amused when his eyes found Ray.

"Heard you were getting yourself into trouble, Haircut. Or did you just decide that you liked the floor all of a sudden?"

"The floor?" Ray's eyes widened. "Um, no. The floor is fine. I just…"

"... blew something you weren't necessarily supposed to be working on up in your face and succeeded in knocking yourself out?" Martin supplied.

"Yeah, that."

Mick's eyebrows went up. "Nice."

Martin cleared his throat loudly. "As… _nice_ as this is…" he directed a pointed glare at Mick, "the medbay is where we are supposed to be headed."

"Right." Mick nodded and approached Ray, crouching down with his arms partially extended.

Ray watched him with some alarm. "Whoa, hey, what are you doing?" He held up a hand, trying to wave him off.

Mick frowned at him, puzzled. "Taking you to the medbay."

"Uh… you're not going to carry me… are you?"

Mick still stared at him. "How else we going to get you there?"

"Mick! You're not going to carry me to the medbay!"

"Did it before," Mick reminded him.

"Yes, but that was… that was under different circumstances!" Ray protested. "Not that I didn't appreciate what you did," he added quickly.

Mick shrugged. "Doesn't seem all that different to me."

"I wasn't conscious!"

"So?"  
"So… so it's different!" Ray protested. A spike of pain lanced through his head and he winced.

"No more protesting," Mick insisted.

"Er, perhaps things would go smoother if you simply _assisted_ Dr. Palmer to the medbay," Martin interjected.

Ray had forgotten he was still there, but he nodded vigorously at his suggestion. Or tried to anyways. "Ow!" He brought a hand to his head and Mick took the opportunity to scoop him up in his arms.

"Hey!" Ray gasped and Mick grunted, unconcerned.

"Sorry, Haircut," Mick said, though he didn't sound very sorry at all. "Doctor's orders."

* * *

 **So something I found myself really enjoying during Legends was the friendship that developed between Mick and Ray... They were so different from each other, but the writers made the friendship work and it's definitely something I want to write more about.**

 **Thoughts? Opinions? Favorite part? I'd love to hear anything you have to say!**


	3. The Spoon

**Once again, this chapter is a little short. Hopefully, once nanowrimo is over and I have a little more breathing room, I'll be able to write some longer chapters.**

 **In response to a review left by AFanofYourStory: Yes, I do take prompts. Absolutely. My one rule is no slash and no smut. And I'm not particularly fond of jazz either. ;) Perhaps that's why it was jazz I chose for this story, lol!**

 **I'm kind of operating under the assumption that the _Waverider_ possesses a normal-ish kitchen, so if it doesn't (I honestly don't remember, lol) then I apologize for the flaw.**

 **In any case, please enjoy!**

* * *

"Mick," Sara said warningly, pointing a spoon at Mick. "I want that pudding. That's my pudding."

Mick raised his eyebrows at her as he peeled the lid off the last cup of chocolate pudding, tossing it on the table. "I don't see your name on it anywhere."

Sara crossed her arms. "You already had three, Mick. That one's mine."

"So?" Mick asked, digging his own spoon into the cup. "Use the food fabricator."

"It's not the same," Sara argued. "Have you _tried_ the fabricated Jell-O?"

"Yup," Mick answered around a spoonful of pudding.

"And?" Sara asked, expectantly.

"Hey, guys, what's…"

Jax entered the room, freezing when his eyes alighted on Mick and the last pudding cup.

"Is that…? Dude! Did you take the last pudding cup?"

"He did," Sara said. " _My_ pudding cup."

"Hey, I didn't get one either," Jax protested.

"I called 'dibs,'" Sara said, cocking her head.

"What?" Jax scoffed in disbelief. "Not before me, you didn't."

"Gideon?" Sara raised her eyebrows.

"Miss Lance declared 'dibs' approximately five minutes and thirty-three seconds before you did, Mr. Jackson," the A.I. supplied.

"See?" Sara said smugly.

"What? Gideon keeps _track?"_

"I keep track of everything that happens on board this ship."  
"Good to know." Jax sounded more than a little disturbed.

"Don't see why it matters," Mick commented, taking another bite of pudding. "It's mine now."

"Because you _stole_ it!" Sara declared, unconsciously raising the spoon.

"Hey, what's going on?"

All eyes were instantly on Ray as he entered the room, confusion written on his face.

He frowned when he noticed Sara's position. "Sara," he asked, "are you threatening Mick with a spoon?"

"Yes," Mick answered, taking another large bite of pudding.

Sara, however, ignored him, fixating instead on what he held in his hands.

"Ray, is that… a pudding cup?"

Ray glanced down at the opened cup in his hand. "Ye-e-es," he said slowly, raising an eyebrow in her direction. "Unless I'm seriously mistaken on what a pudding cup is, then yes."

Jax leaned forward, Ray now having his full attention. "Where did you get it?" he asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"Back in the… fridge." Ray frowned more deeply as he glanced between the two of them, gesturing behind him with one hand.

He looked to Mick for an explanation, but the man was polishing off the last of the pudding.

"Are there any more?" Jax asked urgently.

"Uh… no, I don't think so," Ray said. "I saved this one." He scrunched his brow, looking somewhat unsure of himself. "Wait... actually, I mean... there might be. Someone else could have saved one, but it could be Rip's so…"

Sara and Jax glanced at each other, before both scrambling to get out of the room first.

" _Dibs!"_

Their voices mixed, making it impossible to determine who spoke first.

Ray watched them go, puzzled, before turning back to Mick. "What was that all about?" he asked, gesturing with his thumb.

Mick shrugged, licking the top of the pudding cup, his attention entirely there. "Dunno."

"So they just…" Ray glanced back over his shoulder, as if he expected one of the two, or both, to suddenly reappear.

They didn't.

* * *

Rip was exhausted. And, after a long day of sorting through anything that might help him determine where in history they should stop next, he was starving.

He entered the kitchen with a sigh. At least he'd had the foresight to hide one of the cups of pudding from the prying eyes of his team… he'd never get one otherwise, something he'd learned after the unfortunate Jell-O fiasco.

He opened the door to refrigerator automatically, fingers reaching to where he had hidden (rather cleverly if he did say so himself) his share of the pudding.

His fingers closed on nothing.

He froze, before quickly kneeling down and peering into the depths of the refrigerator.

It was gone.

He dug through the contents of the fridge-maybe he'd placed it farther back than he remembered-but, no, it wasn't there.

He straightened, frowning.

No, he'd definitely left it there and now it was gone. He was sure of it.

Meaning someone had snatched it.

And he didn't need Gideon to tell him who it had been.

" _Miss Lance!"_

* * *

 **Poor Rip. His team just won't give him a break. So far, they've blown stuff up on his ship and stolen his pudding. *shakes head* He needs a bit of a break.**

 **Anyways, I've written and finished another Legends fic (a short one) in a notebook, which may at some point find it's way onto google docs (most likely sometime after November). It's a Ray and Snart friendship (featuring Mick and Sara towards the end)fic. I'm posting this here because I want to see if anyone would be interested in reading it.**


	4. Thanksgiving Theatrics

**I'm going to start by apologizing for the length of time it took to get this chapter up. Nanowrimo was a _pain._ Thankfully, I now have the time to give this and my other stories some attention before beginning the editing process. *sighs***

 **I'd hoped that I would have this done and published on Thanksgiving, but that turned out to be wishful thinking on my part. I can't thank you all enough for your patience.**

 **This particular chapter is thanks DarkRed101, who suggested a Thanksgiving one shot! Thank you so much for the idea; I had a lot of fun writing it! :D**

 **I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Rip ignored the voices drifting into his study. It wasn't hard. The team had been surprisingly quiet ever since they returned from the little "shopping spree" Kendra had dragged them all out on.

Thanksgiving.

According to the members of his team (who weren't likely to let him forget it) and Gideon, it was Thanksgiving.

Rip had heard of the celebration of course. He'd just never, well, celebrated it. Ever.

But apparently, they weren't going to let it slide and Kendra had somehow convinced them all to help her with the shopping.

(Rip had suggested letting Gideon handle it with the food fabricator, but they all insisted that the _real_ food would taste much better.)

However, Rip, who'd declined any and all invitations to join them, was finding he liked this arrangement much better.

It gave him a few hours to complete his tasks in peace and quiet.

He had been anticipating with dread the moment when it would all end, but, so far, the returned Legends had yet to disturb him.

He still braced himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then… his nose twitched.

The smell wafting in was almost… yes. He decided right then and there that it could most _definitely_ be described as heavenly.

And then he shook his head sharply, returning back to his work.

 _No._

He was _not_ going to let himself get distracted.

He was busy. The fate of the world rested on his…

"Rip?"

Rip's head jerked up.

"Kendra!" His eyes widened and he sat up, accidentally knocking several of his papers across the floor.

Groaning, he leaned under the desk, picking them up without paying attention to what particular order they were in.

"Need any help?" Kendra asked. He could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

"No. No, I have _got_ it." He gathered them all together, placing them on the desk again. "Now," he clasped his hands on the desk, "what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"Rip." Kendra wasn't fooled by his act, crossing her arms, even though her amused smile told him she was anything but serious. "You know what I'm here about."  
Rip raised his eyebrows gently. "It wouldn't have anything to do with that smell out there, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, it _would._ "

Rip's nose twitched again, but he chose to ignore it, looking back down at his papers. "Well, that's nice, but I'm afraid I'm really busy, Kendra, and…"

Kendra was suddenly next to him, taking him by the arm. "Are you really going to disappoint everyone, Rip?" she wheedled. And then, as extra incentive, she added, "You can come with me, or," she drew out the word _or_ , "Sara can come get you herself."

Rip let out his breath, annoyed. If she thought threatening him with _Sara_ would work… well, then, she obviously didn't know how many times he'd faced the (former) assassin.

But… it _did_ smell rather good. Checking it out might be in his best interest after all.

"Fine," he conceded, straightening his shoulders to hold his dignity together. "I'll humor you."

Kendra smiled, looking thrilled. "I knew you would."  
Rip tried not to look too offended at that. He was _not_ that easy to manipulate.

Mick was the first Legend he caught sight of. He was casually licking his fingers, as Sara, her hands planted on the table, stood protectively over a large turkey. One side had been torn into, no doubt courtesy of one Mick Rory.

"I don't care _how_ hungry you are, one does not simply _rip into_ Thanksgiving dinner in such a… _barbaric_ manner," Martin was lecturing. It didn't even look like Mick was listening.

Before Rip had a chance to say anything, Mick's eyes flashed up to see him. "What do you know?" He grinned. "Turns out Big Bird can actually make one killer turkey."

Out of the corner of his eye, Rip noticed how nettled Kendra was… and wondered just how many _bird_ jokes had been made.

It was better not to ask, he decided.

"Yes, well," Rip said, making sure to frown at Mr. Rory, "as fortunate as that is, Mr. Rory, I think we would all much appreciate it if you managed to keep your hands to yourself."

Mick grinned sharply, but at least he was too far away from the turkey to make a grab for it.

And with the way Sara was standing guard, it was unlikely he'd get another shot at it.

"Coming through!" Ray's voice announced. They parted to allow Ray a passage to the table. In one hand, he held a dish of mashed potatoes. In his other, something red and jelly like.

"Cranberry sauce," Kendra said behind him.

"Ah."

"What's the matter, Rip?" Mick raised his eyebrows. "Never seen any before."

* * *

"So," Sara clasped her hands in front of her, ignoring her plate of food for the time being. "Who wants to play a game?"  
"A game? Who wants to play a game when you have this?" Mick spoke with his mouth full.

To the surprise of no one, he had been the first to dig in when all was said and done and they were finally ready to eat.

"Ooh!" Ray perked up, immediately enthusiastic, again to the surprise of no one. "You mean the Thanksgiving game? I used to play that! Well… not a lot, but…"

"So _that's_ your bright idea," Snart said. He skewered a piece of turkey with his fork.

" _Thanksgiving_ game?" Rip wrinkled his forehead. "That seems… simplistic. Wasn't there anything more creative available?"

Sara leaned forward, with a sly smile. "Well, that's thing, Rip. You're _supposed_ to play this game on Thanksgiving. It's necessary."

"Yeah." Jax nodded, catching on right away. "Very important."

"It's kind of like a… family thing," Ray said.

Without giving Rip time to interject, Sara continued, "And since you're always telling us that we need to be more like…"

"Wait just a minute! I am _not!"_ Rip interrupted, without even giving her a chance to finish.

Sara's smile grew. She was drawing it out. She enjoyed this.

"Let her finish, Rip!" Snart called out. From the look on _his_ face, _he_ was enjoying it too.

Rip glared at him.

Were they really going to rebel on him like this? All at once?  
Sara propped one elbow up on the table, resting her chin on her open palm. "See, it's like this, Rip. If we're a team, then we ought to spend time bonding, right? And so this is pretty much bonding time."

Rip sighed. Okay, so she had a point. If they were going to save the world, it would definitely help that they operated like a well-oiled machine… and they really _hadn't_ been lately, so if this game was supposed to change that, well, then, he could give it a go.

"All right. Fine." He took a bite of turkey, and decided that they were right. Kendra really did make a killer turkey, as Mick put it. "How do we play it?"  
Sara leaned back in her chair, folding her hands on the table. "We're going to go around in a circle," she said, "and we're going to list off the things we're thankful for."

Rip blinked. "That… that's _it?_ How is _that_ supposed to help us save the world?" As soon as he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake.

Sara's eyes twinkled. "Never said it was going to help us with _that_ ," she pointed out, taking _far_ too much delight in the situation. She was sadistic. Really, she was!

The rest of the team was watching him with poorly concealed amusement. Perhaps he did catch a bit of sympathy in the eyes of Kendra, but it was well hidden.

"...starting with you, Rip."

Rip just managed to catch the tail end of Sara's sentence.

"No," he said, holding his hands up. "No, no, no. I refuse to be the one to start this _ridiculous_ game."  
"That's okay, Rip." Kendra reached over to pat his arm. "I'm okay with starting us off if you need a little help."

"That's really not necess…" Rip began, but Kendra was already beginning.

"I, for one, am thankful for the opportunity to be here with all of you tonight," she began.

"Careful, Kendra," Snart quipped, leaning his chair back casually, "you might reduce me to tears."

"'Don't do that, Snart. You'll break the chair," Martin said, wiping his hands with a napkin.

Snart paid him no mind. "Well, Rip, you gonna say something?" he challenged. "Wouldn't want to be outdone by Bird Girl now, would we?"

"Hey!" Kendra protested, half rising out of her seat.

"Wait." Sara held up her hand, stopping things before they could escalate. "Let's hear what Rip has to say." Her eyes were intense, penetrating, daring him to say no.

"I'll have you remember, I _am_ the captain here," Rip reminded her.

Sara didn't bat an eye. "You're redirecting us. You're trying to avoid answering."  
"It's simple really. Just tell us something you are grateful for."

"I…" He realized he hadn't really given much thought to what he truly was grateful for. Miranda. Jonas. He had been thankful for them. _Was_ still thankful for the time he'd had with them. That he'd been lucky enough to have his family in the first place.

Rip wasn't going to be bringing up his family though. That was… that might be too much at this time.

He swallowed.

"Well?" Sara leaned forward a little farther expectantly.

Rip sighed, pushing his plate away from him, even though he was by no means done. "Fine," he said. "Fine. If you want to know what I'm thankful, I'm… I'm thankful for all of you. That we… that we actually have a _chance_ at stopping Savage and…"

He stopped. He hadn't actually meant to get that far, but he noticed that all eyes in the room were now locked on him, and not a single pair looked amused.

Slightly irritated now, Rip pushed his chair back. "What?" he asked, addressing them all.

"Aw." Sara reached out and patted his arm, though there was nothing mocking about the gesture. "We love you too, Rip."

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Rip wiped his hands on the napkin, searching for an excuse to beat a hasty retreat. "Yes, well," he said, "I'd better get back to work now then."

* * *

 **I'm starting to feel bad for Rip. His team likes to bully him it would seem, lol. I should write a chapter dedicated to him to make up for all of that. I will admit to having envisioned a food fight when first planning this chapter, but then getting Rip to admit he was thankful for his team turned out to be much more fun. ;)**

 **Just a heads up, the next chapter will likely be a little darker than these past four (But don't worry, as a whole, this fic is going to be light and humorous). However, I will be posting appropriate warnings when it comes out.**

 **And I _will_ be posting the Ray/Snart friendship fic sometime... Likely around Wednesday or Thursday so I have the time to get it on my computer. :)**

 **Thank you so much for reading and please review!**


	5. Humanity

**This chapter is connected to my previous Legends story, _Got Your Back._ I got the idea to explore what it was that happened with Sara and Ray and this is what came of it.**

 **Warnings for blood, violence and death of a minor antagonist.**

* * *

It had all happened so fast.

She and Ray had been on a quest for information. The bartender had seemed to be a good choice for questioning. After all, bars were where the best gossip took place.

Sara knew. She'd made enough trips.

For once, she hadn't been looking for a fight, but, when one broke out, as they often seemed to around her, she welcomed it.

Sara always kept three or more knives concealed on her person at all times. Chalk it up to her time spent as an assassin. It had more than helped lead to her paranoia.

But what she currently prided herself on was her ability to _not use_ them.

She still remembered the time they'd sought to cripple Savage by destroying his funds. The time she'd lost complete control.

And in front of Rip.

It still haunted her. The fact that she had torn through that room and felt absolutely _nothing_ when she spilled the blood of at least three men. The fact that she hadn't been able to control herself until the very end.

She didn't stop carrying her knives. She felt exposed, vulnerable, without them. That was something she didn't think she could ever change.

But she hadn't used them.

She could _control_ herself.

It gave her hope that maybe her humanity wasn't as far gone as she thought it was.

And so she used her fists. Knocking her opponents down and out of the fight. Killing none of them.

She didn't see how Ray was doing. He didn't have the training she did. Hell, she wasn't sure he'd had _any_ training, but she trusted him to take care of himself.

So when she turned around, saw a man with Ray pinned up against the wall, drawing a knife across his throat, Sara saw red.

Red. The red of Ray Palmer's blood and beyond that, more red.

She acted purely on instinct, because if she had stopped to think, she would have lost a teammate for sure.

Sara's fingers latched onto the first knife handle they found and she threw it.

Her aim was perfect. It always is.

It hit exactly where she'd intended it to. Right between the man's shoulder blades.

His hands dropped away from Ray's throat. Sara closed the distance between them quickly, wrenching the blade out before he fell.

Ray, with nothing holding him up, slumped against the wall, hand pressed to his throat.

She should have turned her attention onto her fallen teammate then and there, but she didn't.

She spun around, driving the knife home once man who'd lunged at her went still, eyes going wide with shock.

Sara pulled the knife back and the man fell to the floor like a stone, already in the throes of death.

She fully expected more of a fight, to have to cut down far more of them. Maybe it was the knife she'd just felled two of their fellows with, maybe it was the fact that she'd already taken down plenty without the use of a weapon deadlier than her fists, but, whatever it was, the few remaining backed off.

Sara raised the knife only slightly, a warning in case any thought to attack when her back was turned. "I'm only going to tell you this once," she said, "back the hell away."

She didn't have time for this. Ray could very well be dying.

They did, encouraged, perhaps, by the arrival of several of her teammates. She didn't know who was there.

Sara was already dropping to her knees. Ray was still conscious, his hands pressed against the wound on his neck. Blood still leaked between his fingers.

She had to stop it.

Sara was wearing a jacket, one she quickly took off. She could use it as a makeshift bandage of sorts.

She noticed her hands for the first time. They were covered in blood. Not hers. Not Ray's. A stranger's blood.

She'd killed him.

Sara had not only been trained in taking a life. She'd also been taught to save a life when the need arose. She may not be a doctor, but she was good enough to know that treating a wound while her hands were currently covered in _someone else's_ blood was not a good idea. Not in the slightest.

But Ray was running out of time.

She folded the jacket, trying to avoid getting blood on it as much as possible.

"Ray," she said, trying to get his attention. "Ray, I need you to pay attention. You need to keep pressure on the wound."

Somehow, he listened. Sara pressed her own hands against his, helping him keep it in place.

"Sara." A hand on her shoulder. One word made itself known in her head.

 _Enemy._

Sara spun around, teeth bared in a snarl, one hand already groping for her knife.

" _Sara!"_

Rip jumped back, hands held up placating, showing her was not the enemy.

 _Rip._

Oh.

She'd… she'd almost lost control in front of him. Again.

She'd almost _attacked_ him.

Her hands dropped away from her knife hilt.

Someone brushed past her, but she paid them no heed.

"Rip?" Her confusion bled out into her voice.

"Sara, _stop!"_

Cautiously now, he gripped her shoulders. "You need to calm down and we need to get Dr. Palmer back to the _Waverider._ Do you understand me?"

Yes, yes, she understood him now.

Sara nodded.

Rip gave her a look, something that might have been a pained understanding, but then he was looking past her, lips tight.

"It's not as bad as it could have been," Rip said. His hand squeezed her arm briefly.

Mick was at Ray's side, lifting him in his arms.

Ray's hand was still pressed firmly against his throat. There was blood.

Rip was right. It wasn't that bad. The man had been sloppy. And the knife had reached him in time.

That didn't make the sickness go away.

She'd saved her teammate. She knew that. She didn't regret that. She would do it again if she had to.

But she hadn't _felt_ anything. It was instinctual. As easy as peeling a banana.

And she hated to admit it, but that scared her.

Sara didn't want to become that animal, that killing machine, again.

Mick was threatening him, telling him what would happen if he even thought about dying again, but she only heard about half of them.

The rest didn't make any sense.

"Congratulations, assassin." Snart's drawl made its way to her ears. "You always seem to find trouble wherever you go."

"Like you're one to talk," she said back, marching past him. She couldn't-she didn't have time for this.

Ray was going to be okay. He wasn't going to bleed out and once they got him to the _Waverider_ , he'd be as good as new. That was all she needed to know.

Right now… she just needed some air.

* * *

 **So I did a bit of research for this one... don't expect it to be entirely medically accurate though, but I really didn't need to include very many medical details. You can indeed survive having your throat cut. I don't think it would be a very pleasant experience at all, but you can, provided you keep enough pressure on it to keep from bleeding out before getting adequate medical care, or if the cut is glancing enough to avoid the carotid artery and jugular veins. Actually, there were a lot of, well, interesting tidbits I learned... (who knew, right? The joys of the internet.), but I don't think it's necessary to share them all here. Just know that it _is_ possible.**


	6. Elf on the Shelf

**Just a silly little Christmas one-shot. I had hoped to get this out _on_ Christmas day, and not several days later, but, alas, it was not to be. My computer charger decided to fritz out on me and so all writing had to be put on hold till Christmas day when my brother got a new laptop and agreed to share his charger with me.**

 **AFanofYourStory: I can't promise when I'd be able to get it done, but I'm definitely interested in that prompt! Thank you!**

 **Anyways, I just want to wish you all a Merry belated Christmas! And a Happy New Year, because, wow, that's coming up fast!**

 **And of course, a super huge thank you to all my wonderful reviewers: radpineapple, AnotherAwkwardFangirl, Manticore-Gurl071134 and AFanofYourStory! You guys are seriously the best!**

* * *

It was Martin who found it the first time.

He'd gone into his lab first thing in the morning, bleary eyed and with tufts of hair sticking up in unusual places, muttering something about completing a formula.

He'd stumbled right back out again.

The rest of the Legends had been seated around the breakfast table.

They hadn't expected Martin to join them, snag a cup of tea and leave, saying something about the ship going mad.

No one knew what he was talking about.

* * *

Rip found it the second time. It was just… sitting there.

Cheerful eyes, rosy cheeks, pointed red hat and frilly white collar and all, it just sat there.

In his study.

 _His_ study.

For a moment, all he could do was stare blankly.

Then he swallowed. "Gideon?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Explain."

"The Elf on the Shelf is a Christmas tradition. Usually parents leave it around the house, changing its location each night and telling children it's one of Santa's elves, keeping tabs on their behaviour."  
Well that was… honestly a little creepy.

And now it was on his ship.

Rip sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Gideon, you know who did this, don't you?"  
The A.I. was silent.

"And you're not going to tell me, aren't you?"

"The culprit has asked that I keep their secret. However, if you gave me a command, I would have no choice but to comply with your request."

Rip exhaled once through his nose.

"Do you wish to give me a command, Captain?"

Rip sighed again. "No. Not at present, Gideon."

He was going to figure this out for himself.

* * *

Jax found it the third time.

He rounded a corner and suddenly he was face to face with the cheeky, wide-eyed smile.

He'd cursed, taken a staggering step back and then been thankful only Gideon was present to witness his humiliation.

* * *

Mick was the fourth.

By now, everyone on the team knew about their sweet-visaged visitor.

As of yet, though, no one knew who the guilty party was, except, of course, for Gideon and the said guilty party.

What exactly Mick had been doing in the kitchen was the second mystery, but nobody bothered to ask that.

They had all been drawn by the smell of smoke and, when you share a ship with Mick Rory, that was never a good thing.

And there it was.

What had once been the Elf on the Shelf now lay as a pile of melted plastic and half burned clothes.

Gideon had put out the fire, but not before the damage had been irreparable.

The Elf on the Shelf was well and truly "dead."

Rip wasn't sure how to process the emotions that warred within him.

There was anger. Of course there was anger.

Fire… and on _his_ ship. That was unacceptable (not to mention the stench was unbearable.)

Yet he also felt… perhaps a small measure of… relief? The creature had practically invaded his ship.

It had hadn't been for very long, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be surprised by those eyes again.

Mick had already stormed off, saying nothing more than it had been a menace. Rip made a note to go after him later.

Fire was not an acceptable means of handling one's problems.

Jax shook his head. "Good riddance."

Ray cocked his head. "Actually, it was kind of cute."

"I for one," Martin said firmly, "am glad that it's gone."

* * *

The next day it showed up again.

Ray, as luck would have it, was the first person who happened upon it. He, at least, seemed happy to see it return.

Mick was the second person.

He cursed, seeing the same angelic expression he thought he'd destroyed, and stormed out of the room.

He knew better than to attempt another burning. Rip had already given him what he'd like to think of as a stern talking to… and it certainly helped that he threatened to cut off his access to alcohol… though he wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish that.

It wasn't worth the risk.

"I suppose it would have been too much to ask that it disappear _permanently."_ Martin shook his head, frustrated and dismayed.

"I kind of like it." Sara smirked.

* * *

Snart found it next.

It was strategically located directly outside his quarters.

Spying on him.

Which was ridiculous considering it _wasn't real._

But that was the intention of whoever had placed it there.

To mess with him.

Thoroughly fed up, he left the doll where it was, and stormed off in search of the likely culprit.

Ray Palmer was, predictably, working on a few adjustments to his Atom suit.

Not being one to beat around the bush, Snart crossed his arms immediately. "So what's the idea?"

Ray did a good job hiding his surprise. It only showed in the way his shoulders tightened.

"I'm sorry?"

His confusion was apparent. And genuine.

That threw Snart off. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the elf doll was Raymond's idea. But… Ray was a terrible liar.

If he'd been guilty, Snart was sure he'd have been able to see right through him.

Ray was being sincere.

Still, he wasn't going to drop it.

"I found a guest outside my room this morning."

"A… guest?" Understanding dawned on his face. "Oh, you mean the elf. Someone left the elf outside the door."  
"And that someone wasn't you?" Snart sound skeptical at best.

"What? No." Ray shook his head. "It wasn't me. I wouldn't have it someplace so obvious."

Snart raised an eyebrow.

"So the first person you thought of when you found it was me, right?" Ray pointed out. "So I would have left it someplace less obvious."  
He went back to his suit, leaving his explanation at that.

Snart believed him.

* * *

Sara was in the training deck, working out on the salmon ladder.

Snart decided to give her a moment before interrupting her.

Turned out he didn't need to.

Sara noticed him and dropped down from the ladder. "So," she said, wiping her hands off on her sweats, "what brings you down here, Snart?"

"Let's just say a mutual friend of ours."

Sara raised an eyebrow, bemused.

"The elf."

"So you found him."  
"And you put him there."

Sara didn't deny it. "You gonna spoil my secret?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

"Depends."  
"On what?"

"On my mood," Snart drawled. He knew better than to try and make Sara squirm. It never worked.

"And how do you feel now?" She was grinning. She was enjoying this, taking some perverse pleasure from the whole scenario with the elf.

He smirked in return, a possibilities lighting in his mind like a dozen light bulbs. "Like we could have some fun with this before this all ends."

* * *

 **Did anyone else do the elf on the shelf tradition when they were kids? My family did it one year and, well, I can't say we believed it came from Santa (though we did try to convince the littlest ones that it did) but it was still a great experience!**

 **Again, Merry Christmas and Happy New Years to you all!**


	7. Sand

**This too far too long to update and for that I apologize. Thank you, all of you, for your patience.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to AFanofYourStory, who requested a one-shot with Snart and Jax.**

 **I do have several other requests and some ideas on how to execute them, but I'm letting them sit for now until I have a clear idea on what to do.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

As the saying went, it could be a lot worse, so, in theory, he should be grateful.

It could also be a lot better too, so he didn't think any gratefulness was warranted.

But Snart was clear on exactly one thing.

He. Hated. Sand.

As was his philosophy, misery was best when shared with a friend, but his current companion didn't exactly count as a _friend_ , so the situation remained as it was.

"Hey, chin up, man," his companion said, a little too much forced cheer in his words. "Things could be worse." Unconsciously, he echoed the crook's previous thoughts.

Snart closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then decided to hell with it. "But being all positively _feel good_ about it isn't going to make things better."

"Yeah, because sulking about it is going to make it better. Good call, Snart."

"Careful, kid," Snart warned. "I'm not against using my cold gun on any deserving _teammates_." He carefully stressed the word "team mates."

Jax furrowed his brow at him. "Dude, you're seriously talking about icing me?"

"I'm considering it."

"You don't even have your cold gun out here," Jax pointed out.

"No, but when I get back, I'd be more than happy to give it a test run. You know. Just to see that all the gears are working."

"You're crazy." Jax stormed ahead. He wiped at his forehead. "Man, how many miles out were we?"

"I don't know." Snart was glad he'd decided to ditch his parka when the vehicle broke down, leaving them with no choice but to walk back to town. Something which was taking them quite a while. "I didn't think to count."  
"It couldn't have been more than three. It couldn't have been more than three, right?" He turned to Snart. "Right?"

Snart raised an eyebrow innocently, if "innocent" was a word that could ever be attributed to Leonard Snart. "You asking me?"

Jax turned, gesturing around them wildly. "You see anyone _else_ I could be asking out here? Because I sure as heck don't."

"Aren't you Firestorm?" Snart asked, changing the subject _and_ needling his companion some more. "I thought you were supposed to like the heat."  
"What? You think I like this? Nuh uh, you got it wrong, bro. And what happens when it gets dark? Do you know how cold the desert gets after dark? You gonna enjoy that because your name's Captain _Cold?"_

Snart reached the top of Jax's sand dune.

"Look. If worst comes to worst, they'll come looking for us," he told him. It was as close to reassuring as he could get.

"And when will that be? They've got probably their own problems!" He flung his arms in the air. "Do you know how long it takes to die from dehydration? Three days. Three. Days, Snart."

Snart waved off his concern.

"And I doubt we'll be out here that long."

"We could get lost, or… or something!"  
"It's miles of sand, Jax. There's nowhere for us to be lost."

"People get lost in the desert all the time, Snart!"

"Except _those_ people don't happen to possess our particular skill set."  
"And what skill set is that, Snart? You pick locks. I share a body with an old guy. Neither one seems to be helping us much here!"  
Something caught his eye and he turned, peering up at the sky.

"Wait… wait a second… Snart, do you see that?"

Jax suddenly broke into a run, waving his arms at the tiny figures in the sky. "Dude! It's Ray!" And Kendra too, Snart decided, by the look of things. "Hey! _Hey!_ We're down here!"  
Snart followed him at his own pace, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. As Jax started to remove his shirt, presumably to try and flag their airborne teammates down, Snart spoke up. "They can _see_ us, Jax. We're in a great big pile of sand. We probably stick out like a couple of sore thumbs."

"Oh." Jax paused a moment, then readjusted his shirt. "Right."

He came to a stop, watching as first Ray, then Kendra, landed several yards ahead of them.

"Hey!" Ray waved to them cheerfully. "Heard you guys might need a lift!"  
"Captain Hunter couldn't reach you on any of the communications lines," Kendra explained once they were in range. Her arms were crossed and her wings, which she hadn't bothered to retract, were neatly folded over her back.

"Oh boy." Ray's shoulders slumped considerably. "Yeah, he wasn't too happy about that."  
"Look, I don't care, man," Jax cut in. "Just get us back. I'm sick to death of this place."

Ray angled his head, glancing around them. "Already?" He gave a half-sheepish grin. "It's like something out of a John Wayne movie."

"Cut the crap, Raymond," Snart interrupted. "Just fly us back."

"Right-o!" The grin didn't fade.

Kendra had looped her arms under Jax's arms, ready to lift him in the air.

Snart held his hand up when Ray moved to do the same, stopping the man in his tracks.

Ray crinkled his brow, confused. "Is something wrong?"

"You," Snart said firmly, "are dropping me off before we reach the town."

"Uh," Ray tilted his head to the side, "sure, but… any particular reason why?"

Snart glared at him. "Just do it, Raymond."

There was no way he was going to let himself be flown into town.

Not with Mick there to see.

* * *

 **So... I'm not really sure what I think about this ending, but I feel like Snart wouldn't want to lose his dignity in front of Mick, so...**

 **I'd love to hear what you guys think!**


	8. No Rescue Needed

**Two updates in one day! I'm actually quite proud of myself right now!**

 **So this is something I dreamed up while I was trying to go to bed... which tends to be when my best ideas come, but this... well, this is a little weird.**

 **When I originally came up with the idea, I had envisioned it with an _actual_ villain, one who's worthy of carrying that title, but then I decided it would be fun to write with this cringey bad comic book type "villain."**

 **AFanofYourStory: I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for your review!**

* * *

She was hanging upside down, hands bound behind her back.

They'd used rope.

That was their first mistake.

And honestly? Sara wanted to roll her eyes at the whole thing.

Did they really think they were intimidating?

That _this_ was intimidating?  
The man in front of her was a small, weaselly looking imp. His eyes, an almost colorless blue, were set deep into his face, and the only hair he had left stuck out in several clumps behind his ears.

Whatever this man thought he was doing, he was an insult to the art of interrogation.

Sara tested the ropes around her wrists.

They were tight.

She had to give them points for trying.

They just weren't tight enough.

"Tell me…" The man leaned in close, close enough for Sara to feel his breath on her face. His voice was barely a hiss. It sounded like someone had taken sandpaper to the back of his throat. "Tell me what you were doing here. Why were you breaking into our facility? It's supposed to be impenetrable!"

"Guess not." Even hanging upside down, with her hands bound behind her back, Sara still managed a shrug. "And seriously, back up. Don't they give you people breath mints in this place?"

"I have no time for your games!" The man whipped out a knife, brandishing it as a threat, but not quite ready to use it. "Tell me! Tell me or I'll have no choice!"

And… a _knife-_ it seemed a little… low tech.

But then again, so did the rope.

And his methods… well, she'd seen better.

A lot better.

She'd already started working on the knots. It was a lot harder when she didn't have the use of a knife (and she didn't. None she could reach anyways. The ones she would have been able to reach had been taken from her already.)

Once she had her hands free, however, things would be a lot simpler.

And she was very, very close to getting her hands free.

"I asked you a question!" the man screeched, grabbing her hair and forcing her to look him in the eyes.

Sara grunted, thinning her lips as she glowered.

The discomfort she could handle. This was humiliating.

"No," she corrected, "you didn't ask a question. You made several demands. None of which I feel like answering right now."

It should be just a second now, and… there!

She was free.

She kept the rope clutched in her hands.

Where would the fun be if he discovered she had freed herself too soon?

Sara almost smirked, but she carefully schooled her expression.

It wouldn't do to give herself away either.

The man (who Sara was certain could single handedly ruin the reputation of supervillainy) seemed ready to explode.

Or maybe implode.

Sara really didn't think he'd make all that dramatic an explosion at all.

He might just… light a spark and then crumple to the floor in a pile of ashes.

And that was being generous.

"You… you…!" He was really sputtering now.

And Sara was getting bored.

Which meant it was time for the games to end.

She sighed. "Look, I'm sure you're trying really hard here and I'm certainly having fun, but…" She held her hands out. "All good things have to come to an end."

The man's eyes practically popped out of his head. "What? How…"

"You tell me," Sara said. She reached out, grabbing the man's shoulders and yanking him forward, bashing her forehead into his.

The man fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

He hadn't stood a chance.

The door burst open and she glanced up.

Ray still had his fists raised, weapons pointed into the room in case another threat leapt out at them.

When he saw Sara and the man on the floor, he lowered them.

"Sara!" Even through the visor, she could see his look of surprise.

"You could have spared the manpower," she said. "I could have handled this under control."

By then, she'd gotten ahold of one of her remaining knives, reaching up to slash the ropes still holding her up and allowing herself to drop to the ground unhurt.

"Yes, I'm sure, but…" Ray stopped, as if suddenly unsure how to continue.

That was a first.

"What he means," Snart pushed his way to the front, "is that we all care too much to leave you hanging around all by yourself."

"Aw, thanks." Sara rolled her eyes, but she smiled despite her sarcasm.

"Don't mention it." Snart cocked his head, as she reached their side.

He gestured. "After you."

Sara fixed him with a glare, but allowed herself to leave first.

She was sick of this place already.

She stepped into a very familiar hallways, one she'd helped infiltrate earlier that same day.

Two men lay sprawled on the floor, no doubt courtesy of her two teammates.

Goons most definitely, but they'd have put up a fight.

"You didn't leave any for me?"

Too bad the man hadn't brought them in for the interrogation. Things might have been a little more interesting if he had.

Ray glanced back at the room. "Why? He not fit your standards?"  
"Not even a little bit."


End file.
